A Night to Hold Onto
by sleepwell
Summary: 'Plot summary? You wanted a plot! Then please review and suggest a story line. Otherwise, enjoy this one-shot Damon-Stefan Slash. Takes place one night in Season Two, somewhere near the end of the season. Let me know what you think!


Oh my god. This couldn't be happening. Nothing about this was rationale. He needed it to stop. Before it was too late.

The only problem being, his treacherous body couldn't seem to grasp what his mind was shouting. The electricity running through him with every stroke, every thrust was paralyzing his willpower, rendering him helpless, unable to register his objection.

He willed his vocal cords to voice that simple word, the utterance that would surely halt this madness. 'No.' That was all he needed to say. The most straightforward statement in the English language. But somehow he couldn't force his lips around that one uncomplicated syllable.

Instead, _what the hell_? Could that _whimper_ really have come from _him_? Followed by that guttural moan, that impassioned plea dragged from deep within?

Holy shit. He was losing his fucking mind, all rational thought fleeing as the assault on his body continued unabated, un-protested. And he wanted it. Wanted this so bad that he ached, every nerve fiber exploding in response to the sensations igniting within him.

His mind shut down. He was going to let this happen. Fuck, he _needed_ this to play out, craved it, apparently was actually begging for it. He let go of the final vestiges of denial and arched his back to meet the body above, his sweat-slick chest banging against cool, firm skin, his hipbones grinding against the hard, lean frame pounding against him.

* * *

><p>It had started simply, innocently enough. Both reaching for the amber coloured liquor filling the heavy crystal tumbler. Fingertips touching as palms encircled smooth glass. "Sorry" he had laughed, pulling back. "Go ahead. You look like you need it more. I'll order myself another."<p>

"That's OK" the other had replied with that familiar grin, "I'm in no rush. I didn't realize you had asked for the same drink as me. You usually drink scotch."

"Yeah" he had laughed again. Yet this time his amusement had sounded somewhat forced, hollow. Suddenly he hadn't felt like doing this. Exchanging pleasantries over a drink like 'normal', civilized beings. He had wanted to be at home, away from all the drama, the madness. Even if it was just for one night. He had wondered if the other felt the same.

"Listen. What the hell are we doing?" he had demanded suddenly, more forcefully than he had intended. "I'm just so fucking sick of all this. Why did you want to meet here of all places? The Grill. Really?" His eyes had rolled theatrically, almost involuntarily. "Please. Let's just go home. We can have a drink there. You can tell me whatever it is you need to tell me in the privacy of our own four walls."

The boarding house had felt cavernous, hollow, ominously quiet. As if it had been lying in wait for more drama.

No Katherine, no Elijah, not even Elena. Just the two of them. Sort of like old times, but not really. Too much had happened, too much was between them to ever go back. He had wondered what his brother needed to tell him, what the big 'talk' was going to be about.

Except that before the conversation had even begun, it had happened again. Simultaneously reaching for the alcohol filled goblet, fingers colliding. This time the glass had fallen to the floor, shattering. He had looked towards his brother with one eyebrow quirked, a bemused smile on his lips.

Had found Stefan looking at him rather oddly. A part of his mind had registered that their fingers were still entwined, suspended in midair. But the rest of him had been concentrating on Stefan, warily scrutinizing his brother's expression, trying to get a read on the other male's frame of mind.

He had been unprepared for Stefan's next move. The hard, quick press of lips against his, the drawing of his entrapped hand towards his brother's crotch. Shit. He had stepped backwards quickly, pulling his arm free.

"Stefan. What the hell? Have you lost your fuckin' mind?" Those were the words that had made it out of his head in a rush, his tongue tripping over every consonant. Inside, a hundred different thoughts, a multitude of feelings had milled around, rushing, colliding in his brain, but somehow no further coherent response had made its way into conscious contemplation.

Because Stefan had stepped forward, closing the distance that had been created between them. Resolutely, without hesitation, Stefan had pulled him in, had kissed him again, fiercely, forcefully. This time, his brother had placed one hand behind his neck, holding him firmly in place while the other held him tightly from behind, pressing him up against Stefan's chest. Stefan had effectively ensured that there would be no retreating, no pulling back.

So he had stood there, frozen, panic stricken, succumbing to the force that was Stefan. This was his_ brother_, his freakin' _brother_ for god's sake. His younger brother, who was kissing him, running a hand firmly yet tenderly through his hair, making him forget who they were, _where_ they were. The same brother he had once loved, long hated, and _now_?

Trying not to respond to the insistent mouth on his, he had wondered- what exactly _were_ they to each other these days? Their relationship had been evolving, changing over the past couple of years. But _this_? Had he missed something?

'Obviously', he had hissed inwardly at himself. His mind had scrambled, trying to find a connection between the events over the past few months and what was happening now. He had drawn a blank.

OK, enough with the psycho-analytical-bullshit-babble, he had told himself sternly, he needed to bring these proceedings to a halt. And fast, before…oh my god, was Stefan really touching him _there_? Holy shit. How had his brother's fingers made such quick work of that awkward belt buckle, the pant zipper that always stuck?

And how had he never noticed that Stefan's fingers were so long, so delicate and yet oh-so-strong? The way those fingers were stroking him, teasing, offering a promise of even better things to come, how was he supposed to pull away from this sweet torment?

The knowledge that he had to put a stop to this madness had started an inner war. A war between rational thought and base instinct. And something else. The sense that this was meant to be, that Stefan and he together like this had always been inevitable. That everything that occurred between them had led to this moment in time.

His treacherous heart had begun to beat erratically, its pounding threatening to betray his seeming inability to control the visceral response to his brother's mouth now making its way down his bared torso (where _had_ his shirt gone?), marking his flesh with sharp, quick bites. Those nips that had felt soooo good. Pain and pleasure, his two favourite things.

Stefan had dropped to his knees, his hands clutching at pant material, attempting to push the offending garment downwards, out of the way. Encountering resistance, Stefan had growled, a disturbingly sexy, throaty sound that reverberated against his newly exposed, jutting hipbone. The strangely seductive snarl had only served to unnerve him further.

How was a guy supposed to have kept a clear thought? When he had been told to 'shush' every time he attempted to register a complaint, a protest? And _why_ would he have wanted to bring this seduction to an end? When the mouth on his traitorous erection was perfection –personified, drawing from him pants of pure pleasure, causing him to throw his head back, forcing all remnants of objection from his befuddled frontal lobe.

* * *

><p>"Stefan". The name left his lips almost unwillingly, hesitatingly, as their bodies rocking together, joined. Wave after wave of passion rolled over him, and he went with it, denying himself no longer.<p>

"Look at me" Stefan commanded. He dragged his eyes upwards, reluctantly, from the wondrous sight of Stefan entering his body again and again. Met the steely gaze of his brother's.

Stefan's eyes anchored him, keeping him afloat as the roaring in his ears, the thunderous explosion within his body threatened to carry him away. He shouted his release, the noise echoing throughout the room, shocking himself and apparently driving his brother over the precipice. Stefan's own orgasmic cries quickly joined his as his brother's body shuddered and then stilled.

The weight of his brother was comforting, allowing him to feel connected, secure. He wasn't sure what to feel, to think. He decided not to do either for a bit longer. The silence stretched, a companionable, warm peace enveloping him and reassuring him that what had happened between them was going to be OK.

Finally, as the coming dawn announced its presence, Stefan stirred, rolling his upper body off to the side. The space created between them immediately felt colder, emptier. Stefan propped himself on bended elbow. His brother's free hand traced lightly, making feather motions on his chilled chest.

Stefan leaned forward, hair brushing against still swollen lips. Whispered, his breath tickling, "Are you alright?"

He snorted, amused by the question. "Yeah. I'm 'alright'. More than 'alright' I think. You?"

Stefan slowly, reluctantly, turned onto his back, separating himself. No longer touching. Silence reigned again. Shadows retreated as reality was once again revealed by the harsh light of day.

And then, "I'm not really doing so well. I've been drowning. The responsibility, the constant need to plan, maneuver, to _think_. If I had known that returning to Mystic Falls would result in such tragedy for so many…" His voice trailed off.

He turned onto his side. Looked down, his gaze soft, at his younger brother who now lay with his arm thrown across his eyes as if to shelter himself from the pain.

"So. That's what this was about. Comfort. Escape. I get it. I was feeling the same way. It gets to be too much sometimes. Using humans as a food source is a lot easier than being the source of their salvation." His tone was light, ironic, in an attempt to draw his brother out of his despair.

"But Stefan," he continued quietly "We are _it_. We are their only hope. This is all going to go down. Whether we like it or not. We could run, just leave, knowing what would happen to them, to Elena. And we both know that we are past the point where we can do that. So, we're staying. We're going to kick some original vampire ass. Or die in the process. But we're in this together. I'll have your back and you'll have mine. No matter what goes down. Until the end, I'll be fighting with you, _for_ you. Don't you forget that. No matter what happens, don't ever forget that I love you. Forever and always."

Stefan dropped his arm. Laughed up at him, eyes dancing. "'_Forever and always?' _Seriously? Damon, you are becoming rather maudlin in your old age, a bit sappy." His younger brother reached out and quickly pulled him across into an awkward embrace. Kissed him tenderly, with finality.

"Thank you" Stefan offered, "For last night. I think I'm ready now. Let's destroy that fucker's plan. He's cursed alright, but not in the way he imagines. He's got the Salvatore brothers to contend with. A force to be reckoned with."

He laughed, hugging his brother tightly. Things were going to be all right. He just knew it.


End file.
